Fender: Soulless Kings MC

by Andi Rhodes

  “I meant no disrespect. It won’t happen again.”

  Rather than respond, I nod my head. Trainwreck walks away, and I turn my attention to Charlie. Piston is standing next to me and he’s shaking his head. Charlie looks like she wants to take a bite out of my hide.

  “What?” I snap.

  “I get that you have an image to uphold but shit, Fender, I can take care of myself. He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

  “Oh yeah? So you’re telling me that the Black Savages don’t handle that shit the same way, if not worse? Prospect touches a claimed woman, and he just gets away with it?”

  “Not at all,” she fires back. “It absolutely would be handled the same way. The problem with your thinking is that there’s one glaring difference.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not a claimed woman. Not by a Black Savage or a Soulless King. Just because you’ve said the words, just because you declare me yours… that’s not enough to make it true.”

  “The hell it’s not.” She’s pushing my buttons like only she knows how to do, and I have to admit, she’s not wrong. She’s not a Bangin’ Betty, and if I want her to really be mine, to really belong to me, she has to want it as much as I do. I’m sure as hell not going to admit that to her though, not right now.

  “You better wrap your head around this, Fender. I’m not some silly girl that’s gonna fall at your feet or give in to your demands. I was raised to think for myself, to stand up for myself.” She glances past me, and I follow her gaze to see that we’ve gained an audience. “Anyway, you shouldn’t want that. It takes a strong woman to be with a man like you, an MC president. If you want someone who will stand beside you, who will challenge you and support you, I’m your girl. Otherwise, you might as well let me go now because I’ll never be a shrinking violet.”

  “Damn.”

  I look over my shoulder at the source of that exclamation. Joker is standing there with a reluctant grin on his face.

  “You got something to add,” I ask.

  “Nah.” He shakes his head. “Although, even I have to admit, she may be the enemy, but she’s not wrong. That is the type of woman we need at the top with you.”

  Not exactly the level of support I want from my brothers but it’s a big step in the right direction.

  “I get it, brother,” Piston says with acceptance in his tone.

  “Get what?”

  “Why you say she’s everything.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I’m not different. Not that I can recognize, at least. We’re different, together. Our situation is different.

  Charlie

  “Eww.” Widow's nose scrunches and she squints at the bowl of coleslaw in front of me.

  I chuckle and mix the contents. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

  “On hamburgers? I don’t think so.”

  “That was my first reaction too, but trust me. This shit’s good.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t get too much sun back in South Carolina?”

  I stick out my tongue and finish up. Margo is working on deviled eggs and Widow is making a macaroni salad. There’s a ton of food in here, and I’m still not sure it’ll be enough to feed the pack of hungry men hanging around outside, taking advantage of the nice day. I completely forgot what it was like to feed so many people, but it’s nice to cook for more than just me. And it’s nice to share some of my Carolina taste with everyone. My cheeks hurt, and it’s only now that I realize how much I’ve been smiling.

  “Well, I for one am excited to try some good ol’ Carolina cookin’,” Margo says, giving me a toothy grin.

  I smile back at her then step beside her and help her with the eggs. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

  It took about five seconds to realize just how much I liked Margo. She isn't exactly the sort of old lady portrayed in the story books, but she still manages to be one of the kindest women I've ever met. Tattoos cover her loose skin, and she wears her gray hair up in a bun. She looks like, at one point, she was quite the badass and someone you wouldn't want to mess with. I'm not so sure I'd ever test that theory to see if that’s only true in the past tense, but she’s been nothing but nice to me since the moment we met.

  Widow is the same way. She's got black hair and a red streak that hangs off the side of her face, hence the road name. And if that isn't enough, there's a black widow tattooed on her neck. She’s younger than Margo, closer to Fender’s age, and I know she has to have one hell of a story. I wouldn't have pegged either of these women as friendly, but they are quickly becoming the best friends I have in this house.

  We finish preparing everything and begin carrying the bowls and trays of food out onto the back patio where there’s a massive wooden table for days like today. A few heads turn our way and several of the bikers head inside to help us with the rest. That’s one thing that’s noticeably different from Black Savages’ property. Nobody would’ve so much as glanced in our direction at home, but today Margo actually had to kick Trainwreck out of the kitchen because it was ‘crowded.’ They’re not just a family here, they’re a team. I like that.

  I can feel Fender’s eyes on me, but I don’t look his way. We haven’t spoken since our little scuffle this morning, but I don’t think we’re fighting or angry, at least I’m not. I just want him to have time to let what I said settle.

  I go to take a seat, but a large hand cups my shoulder, and I spin around.

  “You’re next to me.” Fender nods toward the end of the table. I raise my brow, and he rolls his eyes playfully. “Please?”

  “Since you said ‘please’.”

  I fight a smile at the snickers coming from those in earshot and follow Fender to the end of the table. Margo sits next to me, Piston sits across, and Joker is beside him. They all turn to Fender who hasn’t sat down yet. He waits until everyone else is seated and is giving him their attention.

  Fender raises a beer. “Let’s thank the lovely ladies for preparing this meal and thank whatever god is out there for giving us some nice weather. It’s about fucking time.”

  “Here here!” someone cheers in a drunken slur.

  Several of the guys turn to Margo, Widow and I and thank us.

  “To family,” Fender says, raising his beer higher. Everyone at the table lifts their bottles and glasses, including me, and echo, “To family.” I put my beer to my lips, an Oregon brew I didn’t realize how much I missed, and take a long drink. It feels weird toasting to a family that isn’t mine, but it doesn’t register until I set my bottle on the wooden tabletop. I shake off the feeling and turn to Fender. Conversation ignites around me as people fill their plates.

  “You and Widow seem to be getting along,” Fender says, pulling my gaze to him. I didn’t realize he’d been watching me today.

  “Yep. I like her.”

  He leaves it at that, but it seems like he wants to say more. His mouth opens, closes, and doesn’t open again.

  I grab a hamburger and open the bun to put coleslaw on top. There’s two bowls and I can see Widow at the other end of the table hesitantly doing the same.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Joker asks, disgust and amusement lighting up his words.

  “Carolina thing.” I load my burger up with the stuff just to gross him out more and smash my bun on top. I bring it to my mouth and moan dramatically as I take a bite.

  Joker makes a sound, and Piston laughs.

  “Carolina thing, huh?” Fender asks.

  I nod and wipe a piece of coleslaw off my bottom lip.

  Fender takes a big spoon of coleslaw and dumps it on top of his burger. I swallow my food and smile. “You don’t have to try it.”

  “I need to see what they’ve been feeding you out there all this time.” He winks, and whatever tension we had between us earlier today melts away. He takes a bite of his burger and makes a face for a split second before his eyes light up and he nods. Piston and Joker watch him carefully.

  “Not bad,” he says af
ter he swallows.

  Piston gives his head a shake. “All right, fuck it.” He smothers his burger and bites into it like he’s not worried about what he’s eating. He pauses mid chew, and I chuckle when his expression turns queasy.

  “It’s not for everyone,” I say through a laugh. Everyone around watching laughs as well.

  Piston swallows it down and takes a swig of his beer. When he pulls the bottle away, he takes in a breath. “It’s not bad. Just… different.”

  “Sometimes different is good.”

  I have one hand draped over the arm of my chair, and Fender takes it and pulls it halfway to him. He laces his fingers with mine. “I agree.”

  The way he says it makes me think he’s talking about more than just coleslaw on a burger, and I can’t help but wonder why. I’m not different. Not that I can recognize, at least. We’re different, together. Our situation is different. Is he saying that’s good? Is it better than it used to be?

  “Charlie, you gotta tell us more about the Carolina crowd. What other shit are they into?” Piston asks. I don’t miss that he called me Charlie. He used to, a really long time ago when Fender introduced me that way.

  “Same things as here. The beaches are warmer, but that’s the biggest difference. People like their bikes down there. I actually worked for a mechanic for a while. Cars instead of bikes, so I know a little about them now, too.”

  “Oh really?” Fender asks.

  I nod. “Yeah, I mean, I was just a receptionist but I hung out in the shop when it was slow.”

  His jaw clenches and his hand tightens around mine without him seeming to notice it. I smirk. “Yeah, Old Man Nickels is a good guy. It was hard to leave him.”

  “Old Man Nickels?”

  “The mechanic I worked for. He’s seventy-five.”

  The hard line of Fender’s jaw softens, and he turns to Piston and starts up a conversation about something else. I just watch him. I don’t remember Fender being so jealous, but I kind of like it. Not with Trainwreck, mostly because I’m insulted Fender would think I’d ever be interested in a kid. I’m not sure the guy can even grow a beard. But I like that Fender wants me to be his. It makes me feel… wanted. At least somewhere.

  I let go of Fender’s hand and eat, making conversation with Margo in between bites.

  After everyone’s finished eating and conversations start to lull, I get up and take my plate inside. I toss the Styrofoam into the trash can in the kitchen and place my fork in the sink. When I turn around, Fender’s there, leaning against the entryway.

  “That was really good.”

  “Thanks,” I say, walking toward him. “I’m glad you liked it.”

  “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  I stop in front of him, and he pushes off the frame and wraps his hand around my waist.

  “That’s because I didn’t used to.”

  “Ah.” He bends and brushes my hair off one shoulder before kissing behind my ear. “See? Change is good.”

  I lean my head back and close my eyes as he kisses my neck. I want to give in to this, but I’m too distracted by a question lingering in my head.

  “Why are you all here right now?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Shouldn’t you be at the shop or something?”

  He pulls back and plants a kiss on my forehead before standing up straight. I crane my neck to look up at him.

  “We closed the shop for a few days. No schedule to keep.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “Does it matter? You sick of me already?”

  “I have four years of not seeing you to make up for. No, I’m not sick of you.”

  The teasing smile he has plastered on his face falls, and he leans down and kisses me. He dips his tongue into my mouth, and I smile against his lips when I taste coleslaw. Fuck, I’m happy. Conflicted. Confused. Lost. But so fucking happy, at least in this moment.

  Fender pulls back and presses his forehead to mine.

  “A few of the brothers are still gonna go to the shop in a bit and get some work done. Wanna come? Show off your new skills?”

  “They won’t mind?” I ask, nodding toward the door to indicate the rest of the Soulless Kings that remain on the patio.

  He doesn’t say anything, and I suspect the answer is no, but I’m not totally sure. Most of the guys have given me the cold shoulder today, but Piston has opened up and Joker seems like he’s trying. Trainwreck doesn’t have a problem with me being here, and neither do Widow and Margo. It’s like the club is divided, and I’m not sure how many people I’m supposed to warm up before they’ll let me go.

  My eyebrows knit as the thought hits me. I forgot I’m supposed to be trying to make them like me. I haven’t even thought of it today. I haven’t felt the need to even put in the extra effort. Today has just been… normal.

  “We can always use an extra hand,” Fender finally settles on.

  I kiss him on the lips and let myself melt into it for a minute, drowning out the world around us and the situation we’ve managed to get ourselves into.

  “Yeah,” I say when I pull away. “I’m in.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  How am I supposed to be happy when I know that, in less than twenty-four hours, that feeling will likely be ripped away from me… again?

  Fender

  “Here, throw this on.”

  Piston tosses a greasy T-shirt to Charlie. When she catches it, her nose wrinkles, but other than that, there’s no indication that she’s disgusted by the dirty fabric.

  “Bathroom’s over there.” I nod toward the half-closed door on the other side of the shop.

  Rather than go to the bathroom, she turns to face the wall and changes out of her tank and into the T-shirt. She ties the shirt into a knot at her side, leaving a hint of smooth skin exposed. When she turns back around, Piston and Joker are staring at her with shocked expressions.

  “What?”

  “Ah, nothin’.” Joker forces his gaze away and pretends to focus on the bike he’s restoring.

  “Please tell me you didn’t make a habit of changing in front of Old Man Nickels?”

  “Of course not,” she scoffs.

  “Good. Can we not make it a habit in front of these fuckers?”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  Charlie looks around the room and takes in all of the bikes we’re working on. Her eyes light up when she sees the Indian Chief that’s in front of Joker. She takes a tentative step toward it and glances over her shoulder as if asking for permission. When I nod, her steps quicken, and I can’t help the grin that forms.

  “Wow,” she says on an exhale. “This is incredible, Joker.”

  “Still a hunk of metal, but when I’m done with it, it will be.” Joker sucks at taking compliments and he’s even worse when it’s from someone that he’s not quite sure about.

  Charlie squats down and takes in the wheels before turning her attention to the gas tank. She seems to take in every line, every detail of the bike and mentally compare it to the information in her brain.

  “It’s a 1946, right?”

  Joker’s head snaps up, and I don’t have to see the expression on his face to know he’s shocked… and impressed. He nods.

  “The badges on the gas tank are missing. Do you have those?” she asks.

  Joker looks over his shoulder at me, and I shrug my shoulders. The sooner he realizes that this is a chick who knows her shit, the sooner he can quit fighting what he thinks he knows about her.

  “Um, no, not yet.” He walks around so he’s standing on the same side of the bike as her. “Haven’t been able to find originals, and the customer was crystal fuckin’ clear: only original parts.”

  “I might be able to help you with that.” Charlie bites the inside of her cheek as if wondering how he’ll take that bit of information.

  Joker snorts and Charlie’s body tenses up. She steps around the bike and walks toward me. When she’s a foot in front of me, she holds out her hand, palm u
p.

  “What?”

  “I need your phone.” Exasperation fills her tone.

  “Why?”

  “C’mon, Fender. Gimme your damn phone.”

  We stare each other down for a minute before I reach into my pocket and grab my cell. I hold onto it for a moment too long, and she snatches it out of my grip. Charlie walks through the swinging door into the front of the shop. Everything in me wants to follow her, make sure she doesn’t walk out the front door, but I don’t. I can hear her voice, and as long as I can hear her, she hasn’t left.

  When she comes back, she’s got a smug smile on her face and her eyes are full of fire. She sets the phone down on the workbench behind me and returns to the Indian Chief. Joker doesn’t acknowledge her presence as he continues to work on the carburetor. Piston and I exchange looks, but we’re both equally confused. Charlie crosses her arms over her chest and starts to tap her foot, her annoyance at being ignored on full display.

  “Jesus, what?” Joker snaps.

  “Both the left and right badges for the gas tank will be here within a week.”

  Joker stands to his full height, causing Charlie to have to tip her head back to look him in the eyes. He reaches past her to grab a rag off of his workstation and rubs the grease from his hands. When he’s done, he tosses the cloth back to where it was and mimics her stance, minus the tapping foot, but remains silent.

  “The shifter knob, saddlebags, headlight and front and rear fenders will be delivered too.” With each item she lists, she ticks them off with a finger. When Joker remains quiet, she adds, “I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’.”

  “Who’d you have to fuck to be able to pull this off?”

  “Watch your goddamn—”

  Charlie holds up her hand to cut off my warning. She always was the type of girl who wanted to fight her own battles, and I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed. I back down but remain prepared to strike if Joker keeps up his shit.

  “I didn’t have to fuck anyone, asshole.”